


Crash and Burn

by blondsak, seekrest



Series: CH3CH2CI [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (don’t we always?), Angst, BAMF Peter Parker, Blood and Injury, Ethyl Chloride: Hard Level, Hurt Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Whump, defenestrating canon as per usual, it’s always a possibility lbh, seeksak can kill Peter a little bit as a treat, this is it the series end folks!, unless we come back to hurt Peter more, we put the boys through it in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27868645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: “Don’t do it, kid. Not for me,” Tony tries one last time—pulling at the taut wire until rivulets of blood run down his arms at the worst of the puncture points. He barely feels the pain as he begs, “Please, just go upstairs, just–”“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says—and the worst part, Tony thinks, is that he really does sound like he means it. “I can’t let him kill you.”(Or, the epic, angsty conclusion of the ethyl chloride saga.)
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: CH3CH2CI [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921798
Comments: 155
Kudos: 264





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pokeydotes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/gifts).



> Happy birthday pokeydotes!! You are a writing inspiration to us and we hope you have the very best day <3
> 
> Also, please note that this is the final fic in this series. You don’t have to read the others to follow along with what happens here, but doing so would add a lot of probably fun and almost certainly helpful context!

“Dude, are you okay?”

Peter snaps his head up at Ned, who’s looking at him with one eyebrow raised. Snowflakes have already started to collect across Ned’s beanie, Peter involuntarily shuddering as his friend’s look of confusion turns into a frown. 

“Are you nervous because MJ’s coming? Is something wrong? Is it a _you know what_ thing?” Ned asks, eyeing him up and down as Peter quickly shakes his head. 

“No I’m fine,” Peter lies, an itch in the back of his neck that he can’t explain as they stand outside the movie theater. 

It’s not his thermoregulation, or lack thereof, as Ned’s implying. What he doesn’t tell Ned is that he’s wearing the spider suit underneath his clothes, partly to ward off the cold weather but mostly because of that same feeling that’s been nagging at him for the better part of six hours.

“You don’t _look_ fine. You kinda look a little green,” Ned points out, Peter giving him a look and going to say something only to be interrupted by another voice.

“Nedward’s right,” MJ says, Peter immediately snapping to attention as she smirks at the two of them. “Didn’t think green was part of your brand or whatever.”

“My brand?” Peter awkwardly repeats, catching Ned stifling his own smirk as MJ shrugs. 

“Primary colors? Or are the ones you chose like, meaningful or whatever?” 

Peter frowns, just as MJ flashes a grin and a wink to Ned as Peter says, “Stop trying to create an origin story for me. Your readers don’t need to know _everything_.”

“They don’t wanna know _everything_ , it’s just a headcanon,” MJ says innocently, Peter playfully rolling his eyes as her grin grows wider.

“You really like writing stories about me?” he asks, maybe a bit too earnestly - MJ’s grin faltering for a bit. If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked nervous.

“Well yeah, cause you’re interesting,” she replies, twisting her lips slightly before continuing, “for readership. My subs have gone crazy since I’ve started writing stuff about... the other you.”

“Oh,” Peter says, inexplicably feeling a little let down at that. “Yeah, of course. I mean, he’s really popular so, it makes sense why you want to know more about him.”

“Yeah,” MJ says, looking a little defeated, the two of them staring awkwardly at each other until Ned clears his throat. 

Peter turns to his friend to see an exasperated expression on his face, only for Ned to smile and say, “Can we go inside? I don’t wanna miss the previews.” 

Peter and MJ both agree, the latter of whom pointedly ignores Peter as they buy their tickets and snacks. Peter’s already feeling anxious for reasons he can’t quite explain but the knowledge that MJ might have only been interested in hanging out with him to write fanfic about Spider-Man does nothing to quell the churning in his gut.

“Dude, what was that?” Ned whispers to him when they’re finally in their seats, MJ excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

“What was what?” Peter asks, glancing uneasily around the room. There’s nothing amiss that he can see, nothing obvious at least but there’s still a sense of… _something_ in the background. 

“You know _what_ ,” Ned says with a scoff. “Why’d you make it like MJ only cares about Spider-Man?”

“ _Ned_!” Peter hisses, glancing around only to find no one is paying attention to them. He glares at Ned before saying, “I didn’t say that, she did.”

“ _Did she?_ ” Ned argues, Peter shaking his head in frustration as Ned continues, “Dude, come on. You two are so obvious, it’s painful. Literally. I’m in pain right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter says jokingly, looking around the half-filled theater. 

Ned continues to chatter about the alleged crush that MJ has on him - something that on any other night would give Peter butterflies but right now is drowned out by a more pressing sense in the back of his mind.

For a brief second everything goes very still, Peter’s eyes darting around as he stands - every cell in his body vibrating with anxiety or anticipation. 

Before Ned even gets the chance to ask him what’s wrong, Peter’s senses start screaming at him - eyes widening as he yells, “GET DOWN!”

Within seconds there’s a sound almost like an explosion at the front of the theater, screams erupting across it as Peter throws himself over Ned. The two hit the sticky, dirty floor of the theater hard but Peter doesn’t feel it - adrenaline and panic surging through him as he covers Ned’s head, shielding his eyes and bracing for impact. 

The impact never comes, glancing up and seeing people running from the aisle. Peter quickly helps Ned up, looking to the front of the theater and seeing a thick volume of smoke erupting from the center near the projector.

“Let’s go,” Peter calls, Ned pulling at him as Peter frantically looks around to see if anyone’s in need of help - never being more thankful that he was wearing the suit underneath his clothes.

But everyone’s already past the projector, the people in the theater leaving in droves when Peter’s stomach drops - locking eyes with Ned as they start to move.

“MJ. She’s still—“

“Come on,” Ned says, the two of them following the crowd into the lobby - an immediate rush of relief when he sees MJ right outside of the double doors.

“Peter! Ned, what—“

“We gotta go,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder. MJ doesn’t argue, the three of them following the flow of the crowd until they’re outside - staring back at the building as sirens ring out in the background. 

It’s not until they’re a safe enough distance away that MJ pulls at his shoulder, looking him up and down before asking, “What happened?”

“I don’t— I don’t know,” Peter says, eyes widening in disbelief that the fire department was already arriving. 

There’s no fire that he can see and the structure is still intact, but the sense at the back of his neck hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s multiplied now that he’s outside, glancing around in confusion as EMTs and fire rescue come out in droves.

“How’d they get here so fast?” Ned asks, the three of them sharing a look before Ned and MJ turn to Peter.

“Gimme a sec,” he says, looking around the crowds and trying to find where the sense of danger was coming from. 

Normally his super hearing is something that gives him a headache but now Peter uses it to his full advantage, closing his eyes and trying to focus on something - _anything_ \- that will give some kind of sense to what just happened.

_“I can’t believe this. Date night is ru—“_

_“We should call the babysitter. If we’re gonna—“_

_“—one is alright. I didn’t even see what happ—“_

_“—dest call of my life. Did Ramos ever say who it was that tipped us off about the theater?”_

There! Peter opens his eyes, looking for the source of that last voice before landing on two firefighters by the truck - both of whom were adjusting their equipment before they went inside.

 _“Nah,_ ” Peter hears the other firefighter say, “ _but whoever it is, I’m glad they did. This could’ve been really bad.”_

They’re cut off by another squawk of the radio—Peter just barely catching the words _gas_ and _bombs_ and _six_ —his eyes widening in disbelief just as the two of them run to their supervisor.

“What? What happened?” Ned asks, Peter turning to him and seeing the confusion on his friends’ faces. 

“I— there’s something happening. I gotta…” Peter trails off, heart beating a thousand miles a minute as his mind races. If _six_ means what he suspects it does, then the city is in bigger trouble than even his spidey sense could have warned for.

“What can we do?” MJ asks, snapping him back into focus - the relief that both she and Ned were alright slightly alleviating the panic he feels crawling up his chest like a chokehold.

“Stay here,” Peter says. “I doubt they’ll attack the theater twice, but stay out of the street just in case. And whatever you do, don’t take the subway, I don’t— Ned, can you call your mom to pick you guys up, as close as she can get?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ned says, taking out his phone as MJ waits expectantly. He can see the concern in her eyes, reminding him of how she looked the day he unsuccessfully tried out for the track team, eight months earlier.

Any thoughts of their earlier conversations fall away as he says, “It’s bad.” Then another horrifying realization: “Oh god, May! She’s at the Tower visiting Pepper and there’s something—“

They’re cut off with the sound of another explosion, people screaming in the distance causing Peter’s heart to leap up into his throat as they turn to it. His face twists up when he catches the faintest trace of an odd scent in the air. It’s some kind of chemical, and although he knows immediately it’s not ethyl chloride—his danger sense having barely flared up at the smell—it’s still quite possibly dangerous to civilians. He looks back to Ned and MJ, conflicted about leaving them as Ned brings his phone to his ear.

MJ nods towards the direction of the explosion, the concern turning to determination as she says, “Go. We’ll be okay.”

If Peter didn’t feel as if he was going to jump out of his skin with worry for May, he’d stay with them - make sure they’re okay and safely at home before he leaves.

But the warnings from over the radio beckon him, just as the thought of more explosions do, terrified at the possibility that—being in Manhattan, and at Avengers Tower no less—May would be right at the center of it. 

He nods once in response, shooting MJ and Ned one last grateful glance before backing away towards an alleyway. Not even a minute later, Spider-Man emerges and swings away.

* * *

They’re all gathered for their monthly Avengers business meeting when the alarm sounds.

Steve is on slide 32 of how the upcoming quarter’s SHIELD budget allotment is being allocated—and Tony needs to find out who showed the old man how to use PowerPoint, because someone needs to pay for boring them all to death because harassing Steve over it would be a bit too much like kicking a puppy who just learned how to play fetch for Tony’s liking—when FRIDAY speaks up.

“Excuse the interruption, Captain, but reports are coming in regarding a gas attack—chemical substance unknown at present—in Queens, with an anonymous tip that more are set to be released throughout the city imminently. Additionally, the Sinister Six have just now been spotted in various locations, and have begun what seems to be a coordinated physical strike.”

“All of them?” Clint asks, looking alarmed.

“That would be correct, Mr. Barton.”

“Alright Avengers, you know what to do,” Steve says with calm determination. “Everyone suit up and be on the jet in five. We’ll talk strategy on the way.”

Without further conversation everyone stands up and heads for the door. Just as Steve passes by Tony says to the captain, “Don’t wait for me, I’ve booked the Iron Express.”

Steve doesn’t even slow his stride, just nods at him without comment and leaves to gather his gear.

Tony is just about to send a message to Pepper and May to stay indoors in the penthouse—the latter having come over to try on some of Pepper’s gently used business suits before they were to be donated—when there’s a hand on his arm. He looks up into Bruce’s concerned face.

“Tony, considering it’s an unknown chemical—do you think you ought to tell Peter to keep his distance? Until we know for certain it’s not ethyl chloride or a related substance, anyway.”

Before he can respond FRIDAY does it for him. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Boss. The Iron Spider is activated and near the center of the first gas explosions, although it does appear Mr. Parker is swinging away from the melee and in the direction of the Tower.”

Tony’s brow furrows with concern. “Swinging away? That’s strange. Is he injured or compromised in any way, Fri?” 

“That’s a negative, Boss.”

“Probably coming to check up on his aunt.” He shoots a shrug at Bruce. “Looks like for once the issue of Spidey’s kryptonite solved itself. I’ll tell May not to let him leave once he arrives, at least until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Bruce nods, satisfied. “See you out there.” He races out of the room and disappears just as Tony raises his wristwatch, dialing Pep.

“Tony,” Pepper answers after the first ring, “FRIDAY told us there’s been a gas attack? What–”

“Make that plural, hon—attacks,” Tony interjects. “Looks like the Sinister Six got their act together enough for a coordinated effort. Listen, I want you and May to stay put in the penthouse, alright? And tell May that Peter is safe and on his way here, and not to let him leave her sight until we know the gas isn’t ethyl chloride.”

From through the conference room windows he sees the quinjet fly by, heading toward Queens.

“We’ll take care of him,” Pepper promises. “Just, Tony—stay safe, okay?”

“I always do, Pep,” Tony replies, lips turning up. He can practically hear her eye roll just before she hangs up. To the room he says, “Fri, send a suit to meet me on the–”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupts from above, sounding almost perplexed. “There appears to have been a breach of rooms 50C-223 and 50C-224.”

Tony glances up sharply. “My personal labs? Is it the kid?” 

There’s a pause. “I’m not sure. Exterior security detected a window has been propped open but I cannot presently access the rooms’ camera or audio.”

“Well, that’s not ominous,” Tony murmurs to himself. Addressed to Fri, “Security system update?”

“None were scheduled,” the AI responds. With not a small amount of snark she adds, “Although, it wouldn’t be the first time someone in Mr. Hogan’s department forgot to add a software upgrade to the log.”

“Hap is gonna make some heads roll if that’s the case,” Tony replies, smirking. He turns serious once more as he asks, “Are all of the Six accounted for elsewhere?”

“Yes, Boss. The team is just now beginning to engage each of them at different points throughout the city.”

Tony considers his options. “Well, it’s probably just Pete, but I’ll do a quick check anyway.”

He heads for the south bank elevators that lead to the lab levels, quickly making his way down.

“Peter?” he calls out as he enters the lab. He looks around but doesn’t see anyone, although one of the windows remains cracked open. Odd, Tony thinks—the teen is usually more careful when he comes through this way. Body tensing with growing suspicion, Tony cautiously steps a few more feet in. “Kid, are you–”

Just then there’s the sound of sharp footfalls racing up behind him. Tony instinctively starts to twist, only for something heavy and metallic to slam hard into the back of his head.

The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is the floor rushing up to meet him.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony comes to with a start. His head is pounding, and he can feel a warm liquid trailing down the back of his neck.

Disoriented, he tries to feel for the edges of his body. Distantly, he realizes that he’s sat up in a chair, which is odd considering the last time thing he remembers is getting pummeled from behind and crashing to the floor of his lab. 

Tony opens his eyes, trying to blink back the blurriness that assaults his vision, feeling nauseous at even that minute movement. He takes a deep breath, forcing the sensation down as he tries to focus. The first thing he manages to see clearly is a bloodied rebar resting on the ground near his feet—knowing it’s likely the source of the throbbing pain at the back of his head.

Tony pulls at his limbs only to find them held secure. A glance down reveals he’s wrapped tightly in what looks like a couple dozen feet of the 2-gauge wiring he keeps for the more heavy-duty projects. Despite the relative thickness, the metal still manages to dig deep into his skin as he strains with his muscles in an effort to free himself. But it’s no use, and he gives up just short of letting the wire slice through his skin. 

_ Great. Attacked, concussed and tied down in my own damn lab. _

Still trying to gather his bearings, Tony softly calls out, “FRIDAY?”

“I’m afraid your AI is not available at the moment, Stark,” a low voice replies from his right. Tony whips his head around—forcefully ignoring the way his skull violently protests the motion—and stares in the direction of the main computer workbench until his vision settles, only to blink again to make sure he’s seeing correctly. It doesn’t take him long to decide his brain isn’t screwing with him—the man is bulky, bald and wearing his trademark black suit, after all.

_ “Wilson Fisk?” _

“That would be correct,” Fisk replies smoothly from where he’s sitting before one of the computers, watching as code rapidly runs down the screen. Tony is too far away to see what the code is but he is  _ not _ so far that he can’t see the USB drive that’s plugged in, the obvious source of the data dump.

He squints at Fisk. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“At present? I am hacking—FRIDAY, as you call it? And once that is complete, I’ll be free to take what I need.” Fisk finally turns to face Tony, giving him a placating smile. “Don’t worry, Stark. Despite you putting a snag in my otherwise quite ingenious plan, I have no quarrel with you. It is simply research I require, nothing more.”

“‘Plan’?” Tony repeats. When the answer comes to him, it’s not a question. “You’re the one behind the gas explosions and Six attacks.”

“Yes, it was quite the diversion, wasn’t it?” Fisk says with a hum of agreement. “Remove all the Avengers from your tower while engaging every level of the city’s responders, leaving this place wide open to my own designs.”

“And what exactly do you need, that you couldn’t have come to me directly?” Tony asks. “Not that I would have given a two-bit criminal like you the time of day, but–”

“Just some old research from decades ago. Nothing you’re invested in, no doubt,” Fisk casually replies. He raises an eyebrow curiously. “Unless you’ve taken a deep interest in your father’s work with Dr. Henry Pym, that is.”

“Pym? You’re doing all this because you want  _ Pym’s _ research?” Tony sputters. “Hank Pym has refused to go near anything related to my father or their joint SHIELD projects in decades. God, you’re really more of a moron than I thought you were, aren’t you?”

“And you’re just as ignorant of the valuable work of your predecessors as I surmised,” Fisk tosses back. “But who would expect anything less of the arrogant, pompous Anthony Stark?”

Tony’s jaw clenches. “What do you want with it?”

He sees a glimmer of raw emotion in Fisk’s eyes before the man hides it away again. “Just because others won’t do whatever it takes to see their loved ones again doesn’t mean I’ll admit defeat.”

Tony shakes his head. He’s not even going to bother unpacking that statement. It hardly matters anyway. “You’re not going to get away with this, Fisk.”

“And who is going to stop me?” Fisk boasts, letting out a chuckle. “You? Or how about your AI that is nearly–” 

Just then the power goes out, red flood lights turning on in the hallways as the usual soft hum of tech that runs through every wall and floor of the tower simultaneously goes silent. FRIDAY is down, and without her, the Tower is a sitting duck—at least for now.

Were it not for the paling light of a winter’s afternoon coming in through the windows, it would have been too dark to see Fisk’s triumphant smile as he says, “Right on time,” and turns back to the computer.

He misses the manic grin that Tony sports in response. “I know who'll stop you, and it's someone far more impressive than either myself or FRIDAY.”

“Oh?” Fisk tosses over his shoulder. “And who would that be? Who is coming to your rescue, if not the Avengers?”

Tony doesn’t reply, though behind his grin he can’t help but think,  _ Rescue. Not a bad name. _

* * *

The panic that Peter feels crawling up and down his spine doesn’t go away but only increases the closer he gets to the Tower, a single-minded focus running through his mind over and over again.

_ Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay _ , he repeats as he swings himself up to the Tower balcony. 

There’s no chance that May Parker wouldn’t be safe and sound inside Stark Tower with whatever is going on in the city, guilt flooding through Peter at the idea that he was letting innocent people come to harm’s way while he checked in on her. But the rational bled with the irrational sometimes, and especially when it came to protecting the people Peter loved.

Peter wouldn’t be able to focus until he knew that May was safe, a panic only further exacerbated since anytime he tried to call - her phone went straight to voicemail.

He lands on the balcony, senses going haywire as he glances around. The penthouse looks dark, a spike of fear running through him that whatever’s happening has already affected May. 

He walks in through the double doors that slide open, focusing his hearing to try and see where she could be. He’s about to ask FRIDAY to locate her when alarms start going off, Peter wincing as the sound blares throughout the empty penthouse and the double doors of the balcony slide shut. 

Peter turns just to see wall-to-wall metal shutters enclosing all around it, vaguely remembering the lockdown plan that Mr. Stark had talked to him about once in the event of an attack. 

Yet the fact that the Tower is going into lockdown does nothing to quell the anxiety in his chest, glancing around and quickly tabulating the quickest way out of here before he’s stuck in the penthouse without May. 

He sees one of the vents in the kitchen, launching a web to propel him forward until he snaps the vent door open and crawls in.

“Karen?” he whispers. “Where’s May?” 

Karen doesn’t reply, only furthering the panicky feeling he has in his gut as Peter slowly crawls through the vent. There should be no reason that Karen was down, her servers were connected to FRIDAY and no damage had come to his suit. 

As he crawls forward, Peter can’t help but wonder if the Tower lockdown was in fact a response to a shutdown of FRIDAY - taking a deep breath as he tries to figure out where to go next.

He closes his eyes, focusing his hearing to try and see where May could be when he picks up enraged yelling somewhere below. He tilts his head to the side, listening in earnest only to snap his eyes open when he realizes who it is - frantically crawling to where the sound is and hoping that May is nowhere near him. 

* * *

The enraged sound Fisk makes when the tower goes on lockdown is almost worth the concussion and resulting headache, Tony thinks as he watches the man pound at the adamantium-enforced walls.

It’s such a comical sight, in fact, that Tony can’t help but let out a gleeful chuckle, one which grabs the crime lord’s attention and has him stalking over to Tony, taking him by the shoulders and giving them a rough shake.

“What did you do? Tell me!”

“I did nothing,” Tony replies easily. “Pepper Potts, however, well—she knows the tower’s back-up safety protocols probably better than our Head of Security does. As soon as FRIDAY went down she knew to head to our very well-hidden and _very_ impenetrable panic room and initiate the back-up server, which immediately locks the tower down if it can’t access my AI.” At the murderous look on Fisk’s face Tony grins. “Guess you didn’t see that one coming, did you, asshole?”

He expects the punch that follows his words, but all the same it feels like a truck colliding with his face—Tony’s eyes closing on instinct as he spits out blood from where his inner cheek cuts deep against his teeth. He squints his eyes open again just in time to see Fisk raise another fist high—only for the sound of metal crashing onto tile to permeate the room.

“Hit him again and I’ll web you to the top of the Empire State Building.”

Tony’s eyes go wide as he glances up and away from the fallen vent cover on the floor to where Peter is emerging from the corresponding ceiling vent, jumping down and landing about ten feet away from him and Fisk.

“Kid?” he says just as Fisk whips his gaze over and sneers, “Spider-Man!”

In all of the excitement of the last fifteen minutes Tony had completely forgotten that Peter had been on his way to the Tower. Seeing him now, Tony can’t help but feel equal parts relieved and nervous. Peter’s plenty capable, but Fisk is beyond desperate at the moment and Tony knows from experience that desperate men are unpredictable and for that reason, not to be underestimated.

When after a few seconds Fisk still hasn’t lowered his arm, Peter sighs, starting to trudge forward. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here but I do know that  _ you _ ”—he points a finger at Fisk—”just hurt my mentor. So I’ll say this just once: step away from Mr. Stark or I’ll  _ make  _ you get away from him.”

“Is that a fact? Well, how about this.” Fisk pulls a handgun from one of his suit pockets, aiming it at Tony’s temple. “You don’t give the orders around here, Spider-Man.”

“Kid, just get outta here—” Tony shouts just as Peter growls out, “If you shoot him–”

“I’d really rather not have to, truly. As I already told Stark, I have no quarrel with him. He’s a means to an end.” Fisk jabs the gun hard into Tony’s head, still addressing Peter. “ _ You, _ however, have been a thorn in my operations for months. So if I’m heading to the Raft tonight anyway, might as well as get something out of this—namely taking you down with me, bug.” 

With his free hand Fisk pulls a vial of liquid out of another pocket, tossing it to Peter who easily catches it in his grip.

“Drink that, and I won’t harm your beloved Iron Man, only you,” Fisk says. “I won’t even use my weapon, just my bare hands. You have my word.”

“What… what is it?” Peter asks after a moment, staring down at the vial and letting it roll around in his palm.

“Don’t you dare, underoos,” Tony grits out, putting every ounce of May-taught  _ you will do as I say or so help me God  _ into his voice. “It’s a trap!”

But neither Peter nor Fisk are paying Tony any real attention now, Fisk grinning menacingly as he says, “Just something to make for a fair fight between us, at least for a little while. I can't say it won't grant me the clear upperhand before long.”

Tony’s heart drops into his stomach as he realizes what’s in the vial. Not just any poison, but ethyl chloride—the one specifically meant to take out Peter.  _ No no no— _

“Kid, you  _ know _ what that is! Remember Halloween, what that thief said about buying the spray off this bastard? So don't be a hero, dammit, just get–”

“And if I drink this, you won’t hurt Mr. Stark?” Peter asks Fisk. “You swear?”

“On the graves of my wife and son,” Fisk replies solemnly. After a few moments he presses the end of the handgun’s barrel even harder into Tony’s temple, making him wince. “So do we have a deal, bug? Or am I spraying the room with Stark’s brains?”

“Don’t do it, kid. Not for me,” Tony tries one last time—pulling at his restraints until rivulets of blood run down his arms at the worst of the puncture points. He barely feels the pain as he begs, “Please, just go upstairs, just–”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says—and the worst part is he really does sound like he means it, even as he doesn’t hesitate to twist off the top of the vial. “But I can’t let him kill you.”

Tony pulls with all his might, but it's no use. “Pete, don't do this, don’t–”

But Peter doesn’t listen to him. Tony is instead left helpless to watch as he lifts the vial to his lips—the nanites of his mask far too easily parting away, Tony thinks with despair—and drinks down his death sentence. 


	3. Chapter 3

The world instantly shifts for Peter.

His throat constricts, just barely swallowing down the bitter liquid and dropping the vial in his hands. 

Peter hears the sound of glass breaking, just as he hears a vaguely familiar voice yelling in the background - his senses immediately muddled and his vision blurred as the world around him turns into technicolor.

It’s like his lungs are on fire, coughing a few times and feeling sharp spikes against the back of his throat - wheezing as he backs up defensively.

He hears booming laughter, Peter turning to the sound only to wince at how painful the movement is. 

He locks eyes with Fisk who looks comically large, broad shoulders and menacing eyes that almost look red as colors continue to swarm and change right before Peter’s eyes.

Peter can see Fisk’s mouth moving but his mind can’t quite make the connection of what the words mean, just barely seeing someone that almost looks like Mr. Stark in the background.

His mouth is moving too but Peter can’t hear anything but a ringing in his ears, a sound that grows louder and louder until his senses _scream_ at him - seeing Mr. Stark’s eyes grow wide just as Fisk snarls at him.

Peter jumps back or at least he thinks he does, but it’s not quick enough - feeling rough hands grab his shoulders.

He’s immediately pulled back, the sharp shift in momentum making him want to vomit only for the wind to be knocked out of him as he’s slammed to the floor. Peter’s head snaps against the floor, vision blacking out for a second only for rough hands to be immediately wrapped around his throat.

“—OFF HIM! FISK, GET—“

Peter can hear yelling somewhere, in the distance, maybe right above him but he can barely breathe— desperately grappling at the force of the man crushing his windpipe.

He slams a fist across Fisk, the first punch barely landing as Fisk laughs only for the second to have some bite to it - enough force that Fisk is seemingly surprised as Peter pushes him off.

Peter gasps, lungs struggling for oxygen as a voice that Peter distantly recognizes as Mr. Stark starts to call out to him.

“—OUT OF HERE, KID!”

Peter knows he can’t but his mind can’t quite put two and two together as to why, senses screaming at him again as Fisk lets out another yell. Peter’s able to jump out of the way then, launching himself in the air and instinctually using his web shooters to bring him to the ceiling as Fisk curses at him.

“That formula’s supposed to kill you!”

“Come on Spider-Man!” Mr. Stark yells out, Peter looking over to him and fighting the urge to vomit as his head bobs.

“Don’t w’rry I got—“ Peter begins to say only to see something coming straight at him, too slow to dodge it completely as it hits him straight on. Peter loses his grip, something that shouldn’t be possible yet it is - the only thing keeping him up being the web still attached to his arm.

“I got you now, bug,” Fisk spits out, grabbing Peter by the neck and yanking at the webs. Peter’s formula is far too strong for just a man to cut through but Fisk seems to choose a different tactic, Peter’s sense of direction thrown haywire as he tries to scramble away only for Fisk to grab the hand with the web shooter still hanging forward— snapping it backwards.

The pain is sharp and immediate, tears springing to Peter’s eyes for how much it hurts— another sign that whatever he’d drank was causing something to be terribly wrong. Peter’s senses are blipping in and out, just as his capacity for pain is - crying out and letting go of the web as he backs away.

“You’ve ruined nearly every shipment my guys have worked at for months. You’re a pain in my ass, bug.”

Peter gasps as he looks up at Fisk, clutching his broken wrist and feeling more vulnerable than he has in years as he tries to back away.

His skin still feels like it’s on fire, pins and needles up and down his spine as he frantically looks around for a solution.

He still has a web shooter but he’s in so much pain it’s blinding, whatever drug is flowing through his system making it hard to breathe— much less focus on strategy.

Peter must take too long because Fisk yells something incoherent, his hearing and his vision working against him until there’s a sharp pain in his gut - Peter wheezing and seeing the slam of Fisk’s foot as he starts hammering onto him.

Peter feels every single crack, punch and slam against the floor - Fisk seemingly taking out months and months of aggression out on him. Peter starts to have trouble breathing not just because of the drugs but because of the blood in his mouth, sputtering out a rasp that seeps through the Iron Spider suit’s slowly crumbling mask as Mr. Stark continues yelling in the background.

“You’re killing him!”

Fisk grabs Peter by the hair, Peter struggling to look at him since one of his eyes is swollen shut - whatever cognizant thought he still has wondering if May is okay - just as Fisk leans in and says, “Good.”

He slams Peter down to the ground - once, twice, three times, Peter’s vision blacking out as time starts to feel syrupy.

There’s echoes in the distance of sound and noise but Peter’s not sure he really hears it, less because of the drugs but because of how much his mind is struggling to stay conscious.

Fisk moves into a stand, saying something above him that Peter can’t hear because of the ringing in his ears.

Fisk looks menacing, towering over him. Mr. Stark continues to scream something in the background as Fisk pulls out something from behind him— pointing it directly at Peter’s face.

Mr. Stark’s voice is desperate now, pleading — Peter only barely picking out the words “please” and “don’t”. 

Peter sluggishly tries to focus, Fisk’s smile growing wider as he says, ““Bye-bye, Spider.” 

Peter lifts his free hand up, a last-minute defense only for Fisk to grin as he pulls the trigger. 

* * *

There’s only been a few times in Tony’s life that he’s felt truly helpless to protect those he loved. The moment he found out his parents were dead. Jarvis calling to tell him he had decided to stop treatment. The spark of true light dying in Yinsen’s eyes. Happy pale and bruised with a breathing tube down his throat. An empty hand outstretched as Pepper disappeared into an inferno. Cradling an unconscious, fallen Rhodey to his chest. 

He had hoped when it came to the kid that maybe he’d do it right this time. That maybe he could protect Peter so that nobody—not the kid, not May, not his friends, not Tony—would ever have to feel that same cursed mix of resignation and terror where his safety was concerned. 

Somewhere in the hell he’s living now, Tony realizes what a fool he’d been to ever believe that. Because directly in front of him, right this moment—Peter is dying. The only question is which will kill him first: the ethyl chloride, or Fisk.

It’s a terrifying match-up to watch as Peter and Fisk face off—if it could even be called a _match_ at all. Fisk had cheated the moment he made Peter drink down the poison. It had ceased being a fair fight before it had even begun. 

Throughout it all Tony screams things he won’t remember, pulling at the wire cables trapping him all the harder—not even feeling the way they dig into already deep and bleeding wounds—as he switches between begging Fisk to back off from breaking Peter’s body worse than he already has and ordering Peter to get away, somehow, any way he possibly can. But it’s a lost cause for both, as Peter doesn’t even seem to hear him—can barely manage to focus on evading the villain in the first place—and Fisk is clearly out to kill.

How Peter is still conscious Tony can’t fathom, the kid’s powers clearly going on the fritz if not gone entirely judging by the way the teen’s hardly able to fight back in any meaningful way. Tony feels like his own heart shatters along with Peter’s bones as he watches Fisk finally capture and overpower the kid, pummeling him with all his might.

“You’re killing him!” Tony yells.

“Good,” Fisk replies with a leer, only to slam Peter down into the floor so hard the tile cracks and splinters beneath. The relentless beating leaves Peter listless but for gasping, rattling breaths, and it’s that horrible noise coming from the kid that tells Tony with absolute certainty—he’s about to watch Peter Parker die.

The kid’s mask has fallen apart under Fisk’s assault, revealing his busted and discolored features—already so swollen as to be nearly unrecognizable—as Fisk moves to stand.

“God, please.” It’s a quiet plea for Fisk to grant mercy, for Peter to make a miraculous getaway, for someone to come _stop_ this. For a miracle.

But nobody listens, and Tony feels his last dregs of hope slide away into despair.

“It was fun while it lasted, bug. But all good things must come to an end,” Fisk triumphantly declares, before pulling out a gun and aiming it at Peter’s head—Peter, who already looks wrecked beyond comprehension, limbs flopping and chest wheezing but otherwise unmoving.

The sight of the weapon causes the protective rage in Tony to flare up for one final appeal. “Fisk, please, don’t do this. Please, whatever you want, you can have it, just don’t–”

“Bye bye, Spider.”

And then Tony witnesses the miracle he’d quit believing in only seconds earlier, as in that exact moment Peter lifts up his free hand, somehow sending out a perfectly aimed attack web just as Fisk pulls the trigger. The force of the web is enough to both stop the bullet in its tracks and catch the gun right out of Fisk’s meaty grip, sending it flying directly at his forehead—clocking the criminal right in the skull. 

The hard _thwack_ of metal hitting bone reverberates throughout the lab, the half-webbed gun hitting the floor with a clatter just as Fisk wobbles once, twice, before collapsing to the ground next to it unconscious.

“You did it, Pete!” Tony crows, absolutely overjoyed as he watches Peter dazedly twist his outstretched arm around to stare at his palm, apparently just as mystified as Tony.

The kid lifts his head a few inches to look over in Tony’s direction—eyes too puffy to see him clearly but more coherence in his gaze than he’d shown since he drank the poison down.

“I go’ ‘im, Ms’r S’ar,” the kid mumbles. “Y’r safe.”

“You did it, kid,” Tony replies, seeing Peter’s swollen lips twitch up in response. “I’m so, _so_ proud of you, bud,” 

“I did ’t,” the kid repeats back, peaceful exhaustion lacing his tone, while Tony swallows down a sob of relief and awe.

_The best of us, the very best of us. Here I was asking for a miracle, and he’s right here._

Just then the regular lights suddenly flicker and then stay on, the sights and sounds of the building coming back online momentarily overwhelming Tony’s senses. But in the two seconds it takes his eyes and ears to adjust, everything goes to hell again. Peter’s head is now resting back on the broken tile, the hand he’d stared at in wonder only a minute earlier resting limply on his chest. His still, unmoving chest.

“No—no!” Tony screams. “Peter!” 

He starts to thrash in his seat, feeling slightly dizzy now from blood loss or maybe just the knowledge that Peter isn’t _breathing_ as he distantly hears FRIDAY say something about the medbay personnel being summoned. 

Suddenly, the cables give way—Tony twisting around just long enough to register DUM-E next to him, wire cutter clasped in his mechanical grip. Then he’s stumbling across the room, completely ignoring Fisk’s splayed form as he falls to his knees at Peter’s side.

The kid looks even worse up close, features swollen and distorted and far too blue—the particular hue that speaks not of bruises or trauma but of a soul skating along the edge of life and death.

“Pete!” Tony desperately cries, setting his hands over the kid’s chest and beginning compressions—watching as with every push his own leaking blood from his bicep wounds flows down to gather beneath his hands and intermingle with Peter’s, just to the side of the suit’s fractured spider emblem.

“Peter, please. Please, kid,” he begs as he counts. A tear escapes from Tony’s brimming eyes, trailing down his face. “You beat Fisk, buddy. You beat him. You can beat this too. I know you can. You just gotta _breathe.”_

The lab doors suddenly whoosh open and Tony glances up in hope that the medical team has arrived, only to feel the weight of his failure fully descend on him when he sees first Pepper rush in and then May—May immediately choking out a garbled _no_ as she falls to the ground at Tony’s side while Pepper’s hands fly up to her mouth, frozen with horror.

“Baby? Peter?” May whispers, stroking his face. When he doesn’t respond to her ministrations she lowers her forehead to his own, sharing words only meant for her child’s ears as Tony doggedly continues the fight to bring him back from the brink. 

“One more miracle, Pete. Just one more,” Tony repeats like a mantra as he watches Peter’s chest move only by the press of his hands.

Everything else fades from his awareness then as he starts another round of compressions—and god, how many has it been?—feeling numb and desperate and like his own heart is about to give out on him if he can’t get Peter’s to _get with the damn program, already, we need you Pete. Can’t you see I need you?_

Just then he feels fingers on his shoulders gently pulling him away from his sacred duty, and he can’t help the way he instinctively jerks forward with a growl of protective fury.

“Stop, Tony. The medbay team is here. You need to let them help Peter.”

If it had been anyone else but Pepper, Tony’s not sure they’d have gotten through to him. But there’s nothing he’d deny her, not even this, and with a sob he lets himself be pulled until he’s cradled back-to-chest in her arms.

With blurry sight he looks on as the team does a quick assessment before quickly hoisting Peter’s limp _—so still, he shouldn’t be so still—_ body onto a gurney, May jumping up and following after them.

Tony stumbles to his feet to do the same, feeling Pepper rise with him—a strong grip on his arm.

“Tony, wait, you’re hurt, you can’t–”

“Pep, I gotta, I have to help–”

He sways, stubbornly ignoring how his vision is starting to darken even in the sunlit room—idly wondering how he missed the lockdown ending. Everything is starting to swirl in front of him now, sound and vision mixing together and Tony can’t remember what he was doing anymore, just that he has to get to Peter, has to _save_ Peter.

“Please stop, sweetheart, you’re–”

“No, gotta…” Tony swats ineffectively at the hand on his arm. “Peter… Peter is–”

He gets to the lab doors just in time to trip over his own feet, falling forward only to be caught by a pair of even stronger arms before he can faceplant. Dizzily he glances up to see a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at him in concern.

“Oh my god—Tony? What happened?” Steve exclaims—Nat, Sam and Bruce directly behind him. “You’re covered in blood, what–”

“Peter,” Tony tries to explain, hardly able to hold a thought now. “Gotta get to… Peter…”

There’s shouting all about him then, bodies hurtling past him into the room, and Tony thinks Cap might be saying something else to him but everything has started to fade away again, and he can no longer focus on the man’s words. All the noise in the background grows even more muffled as Tony loses his grip on the world. He suddenly feels his stomach swoop as his feet get swept out from under him, only distantly registering he’s being carried. 

“Peter…”

 _Shhhh, Tony,_ someone says, all quiet and soothing. _It’s okay._

“No… Pete…”

_You can rest now._

No longer able to fight the pull, Tony falls into oblivion.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter wakes up slowly, if only because he doesn’t ever remember falling asleep. 

It feels like one moment that he knocked Fisk out with his own gun, relief that he’d saved Mr. Stark, only to lay flat on his back and then feel nothing at all.

His memory grows fuzzy after that, flashes of images and sounds that don’t quite make sense to him. It felt like his lungs were burning, like liquid fire in his veins that electrified his insides. Peter was aware of alarms blaring, of lights flashing and darkness that both consumed and terrified him. There were constant voices and then sudden silence-- no sense of how much time had passed, if any at all.

Peter knows time has to have passed because of who is with him when he wakes up, alone in a quiet medbay room save for MJ sitting in a chair next to him, quietly sketching something on a notepad. 

Peter blinks a few times, trying to make sense of where he is and why as he shifts in bed, MJ’s head snapping up in surprise.

“Peter?”

“Hey,” Peter says groggily, clearing his throat before smacking his lips. They feel chapped and his throat feels dry, MJ setting her sketchpad aside and leaning forward.

“What can I do? What do you need?” she asks, sounding scared and a little unsure-- so unlike her that it gives Peter pause as he blinks at her.

“Uh, water. Please,” Peter asks, MJ standing and grabbing the pitcher of water that was already there-- Peter frowning as he watches her pour the liquid into a cup.

“Thanks,” Peter says as she hands it to him, their fingers just barely brushing against each other. Peter hates that he’s attached to a heart monitor just now, glad that MJ seems too distracted with him drinking his water to notice if his heartbeat increases by any measure.

“Good?” 

“Yeah,” Peter nods, emptying the glass slowly on instinct-- remembering what it’d felt like the last time that he’d downed a cup of water too fast after waking up from being out of it. He was friends with MJ now and she’d seen him in a lot of different shades of loopy and drugged out, but vomiting up water moments after waking up didn’t seem like a good idea.

Especially when Peter’s not even sure what she’s doing here, tentatively handing the glass to her as she sets it down. 

“So… how long have I been out?”

MJ pauses, biting her lip before sitting back in the chair.

“Five days,” she says, picking at the skin between her thumb and index finger as she looks down. “You came to a couple of times, but weren’t really awake. I don’t know if you remember.”

Peter doesn’t, his memory still a little fuzzy and filled with too many confusing images of what was real and what wasn’t as MJ looks back up.

“May went to go get some coffee and Stark’s,” she shrugs, “somewhere around here. He’s supposed to still be recovering too, but you know him. He’s stubborn when he wants to be.”

Peter laughs, the corner of MJ’s lips upturning slightly as he nods, “Yeah, he is.” 

It grows quiet between them, Peter glancing around to ask where Ned is only for MJ to beat him to the punch when she says, “Ned’s at his Tagalog lessons. He wanted to ditch but Mrs. Leeds--”

“Was Mrs. Leeds,” Peter says with a small laugh, MJ smiling a bit more genuinely. Mrs. Leeds was like a second mom to Peter, and knew as well as Peter did that leaving Ned to sit by his bedside with no way of knowing when his best friend would wake up would do nothing good for her son’s anxiety. 

“He’ll be bummed he missed you waking up though,” MJ says as she picks up her phone, presumably to send their friend a text. “We had a bet going on who would be here when you did.” 

“Who won?” Peter asks, MJ looking a little embarrassed as she smiles, setting her phone back down.

“Ned.”

“Oh,” Peter says a little awkwardly, if only for how awkward MJ looks. “That’s… that’s good.”

“Yeah,” MJ says, picking at her fingers again. 

Peter can physically feel time passing, MJ avoiding his gaze when he finally asks, “So what’d he win?”

“Huh?” She asks, looking back up at him as Peter holds her gaze.

“You said it was a bet,” Peter says, sitting up in the bed. “What’d he win?”

Peter’s never seen MJ look anything remotely close to frazzled yet that’s the best description he can think of to describe her just then as she wrings her hands together.

“He… well if I won, then he’d have to give me his  _ lumpia _ for lunch for a month,” she says, Peter noticing how she’s avoiding the question as she continues to wring her hands together.

She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands before saying, “And if he won, then I… had to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Peter says, his throat feeling inexplicably dry once again, less because he isn’t hydrated but more because of what he can only hope this conversation is leading to.

“I-- I don’t have a lot of luck getting close to people. So I lied. I don’t just hang out with you to write fanfic about Spider-Man,” MJ says quietly, looking back up to Peter as the air thins. 

“Oh,” Peter says with a huff, “that’s-- that’s great.”

MJ smiles at him, grabbing at her sketchbook and turning it back to him, Peter’s eyes widening when he sees the content of the sketch. It’s him, not Spider-Man but  _ Peter Parker _ \- various sketches of him sleeping, laughing and one that’s half-finished off him looking over his shoulder-- a representation, Peter thinks, of how he looks while he’s daydreaming in class. 

Peter reaches for the sketchbook, eyes asking for permission as MJ hands it over to him, fiddling with her hands as Peter looks through it. 

“Are these all of me?” Peter asks, MJ smirking as she leans forward.

“No, I’m not like, obsessed with you or anything,” she says, Peter grinning as he thumbs through the pages-- seeing yet another part of the girl he still feels he’s just really getting to know as she continues, “But um, I just wanted to show you. It’s-- it’s not just Spider-Man.”

Peter looks back up at her, holding the sketch in hand as he smiles. MJ smiles back at him, Peter looking down at the sketchbook and running a thumb across the edge before forcing himself to look up - taking a leap of faith like Ned had encouraged him to do back at the movie theater when he admits, “I really like you.”

MJ’s smile somehow grows brighter, Peter feeling his stomach do a little flip as she says, “I really like you too.”

She hesitates then leans forward, Peter inhaling sharply in surprise before meeting her halfway, kissing her once. They stare at each other for a beat, laughing before leaning forward a second time-- only for Peter to lift his hand from the sketchbook and bring it to her arm, kissing her for a third time and closing his eyes. 

Peter thinks he might still be a little lightheaded from however long he’d been out or maybe it’s just that he’s kissing MJ, the heart monitor embarrassingly making itself known as it starts to beep wildly. 

MJ leans back, Peter feeling his cheeks warm as she grins. 

“My readers are gonna love that,” MJ jokes, Peter laughing as he sits back, MJ doing the same as he hands her sketchbook back to her. 

“You make me sound a  _ lot _ cooler right? Like, when I’m not Spider-Man?”

“Nah, none of the readers really care about him when he’s not Spider-Man,” MJ says definitively.

“Ouch,” Peter says, pursing his lips only for MJ to laugh.

“Except for me.”

Peter smiles at her just as she smiles back-- thinking that while Ned couldn’t have planned for him to almost  _ die _ before they admitted their feelings for each other, it was almost fitting-- MJ’s phone buzzing and throwing him out of his thoughts.

“Ned’s out. He wants to know if I paid up,” MJ says as she scrolls through the screen. She stands, leaning forward so that they can take a selfie.

Peter throws a thumbs up-- already anticipating the jokes Ned is going to make as MJ leans in closer, tries to keep his heart rate steady as he smiles. 

* * *

“So you’re  _ positive _ you got all the specialized ethyl chloride stores Fisk had on hand?” Tony asks for the fourth time, the other Avengers all rolling their eyes around the conference table.

“Yes, Tony, we got all of it. We had two separate sources confirm that was the entirety,” Steve reassures him again, sounding slightly exasperated but fixing Tony with a knowing look—the kind that said he understood well the lingering trauma of thinking you just watched someone you loved and felt responsible for, die in front of you. 

In return Tony just gives him a hard stare, only to wince when a sharp pain throbs at his temples.

“Tony,” Bruce says gently, “are you really sure you should be up and about yet? The concussion–”

“Is healing,” Tony interjects, even as he presses a palm against his forehead, closing his eyes tight. “Plus Cho topped me off with an extra two pints of O-Neg, and the cradle took care of the worst of the dermal injuries. You know better than anyone else here that some post-concussive symptoms are to be expected, Bruce.”

“I’m just saying that I think you should–”

“And Fisk and the Six?” Tony continues, addressing Steve again. “They’re all–”

“At the Raft while they await sentencing,” Steve says again, voice calm. “Tony, we talked about this when I visited your medbay room days ago, remember?”

_ Not one damn bit.  _

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure everyone on the team had the same intel.” He drops his hand from his head, forcing himself to open his eyes and ignoring the ache behind them as he looks around at all the skeptical faces. “Hence why I called this meeting in the first place.”

“Yeah, and Cap can wield Mjolnir,” Clint mutters, Bucky smirking at his side.

“Is there anything else?” Steve asks Tony patiently. 

Tony takes a deep breath, carefully shaking his head. “No, that’s all I got. But I want a detailed write-up on this one, Steve. I mean it. Don’t leave anything out.”

“Have you ever seen one of his mission reports, Stark? They put even his Powerpoints to shame,” Sam quips as he lifts away from where he’s leaning against a wall, ducking out of Steve playfully swatting at his head as he makes for the door. “Anyone want to order Indian for dinner? And I don’t care what you try to bribe Vision with, Barton, we are  _ not _ ordering pizza for the third time this week.”

A small argument between the group about where to get take-out ensues as everyone departs, Tony shutting his eyes again until he feels a hand on his arm.

“I hear Peter’s awake,” Bruce says.

“He is, woke up a few hours ago. I’m going down to see him now the meeting’s done,” Tony replies with no small amount of relief. He looks up at Bruce. “Listen… with everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that antidote you, Rhodey and Helen came up with on the fly. Here the two of us spent months trying to find something and voila! You three do it in a day.”

Bruce shrugs nonchalantly, but his cheeks redden at the compliment the same way they always do when any of his teammates—or anyone, for that matter—offers him praise. “Well, you know what they say about push coming to shove. And you know we’d do anything for Peter. Even the impossible, if we have to.”

“Still, with me out of commission and completely useless... “ Tony trails off, shaking his head again. “It just means a lot to know that I can count on my friends. There was a time I didn’t have many of those, much less reliable ones.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, Tony,” Bruce says. Before Tony can come up with a reply to that, he drops his arm and makes for the door. Over his shoulder he adds, “I’ll make sure to save you a box of whatever we order.”

“Thanks,” Tony calls after him. He sits for just another minute longer alone in the conference room, before getting tiredly back to his feet and making his way down to the medbay.

Just as he’d hoped, Peter is still awake. MJ is nowhere to be seen but May is there, the two of them talking quietly together. 

“Mr. Stark! Are you okay?” Peter asks before he can so much as say hello. In tones far too reminiscent of his aunt he disapprovingly adds, “May said you should still be in bed.”

“First of all, that’s rich coming from the kid who broke out of this very medbay just a few weeks ago and swung on a  _ fractured arm _ so he wouldn’t miss his girlfriend’s theater show,” Tony counters. When Peter’s face immediately turns bright red, Tony raises an eyebrow. “Wait, so MJ  _ is  _ your girlfriend now? Congrats, Pete. Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d work up the nerve for at least–”

“Leave my poor nephew alone,” May jokes—though Tony doesn’t miss the small note of  _ or else  _ buried there. “He just woke up.”

Tony rounds on her, not missing a beat. “And second of all,  _ et tu _ , Maybelle?”

“Then fall Anthony,” May deadpans. “Back into your bed upstairs, that is. And if you think we’re being motherhens, you should have seen Pepper when she stopped by looking for you not thirty minutes ago.”

“First Brucie-bear, and now you three. Tell me, do  _ none _ of you like fun?” Tony whines petulantly, getting a laugh out of Peter. “Just give me a few minutes with the spiderling, alright? Then I promise I’ll follow Helen’s orders to a T for the rest of my convalescence.”

“Sure you will,” May replies skeptically, but all the same she stands up to let Tony take her place at Peter’s side. To her nephew she says, “I’ll be back in a little while, okay sweetheart?”

As May heads out, Tony takes a moment just to drink in the sight of Peter. He doesn’t know when it’ll stop feeling like a miracle the kid is alive, much less awake and on his way to a full recovery. Just a few days ago that seemed like a complete impossibility, and frankly, Tony’s almost glad he was swinging between unconscious and loopy for the worst of it. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, bringing Tony back to the present. “Everything okay? You’re staring.”

“Sorry, Pete,” Tony says, not sorry at all. “It’s just good to see you up.”

Peter nods knowingly. “May, and then Doctor Cho… they both said that it was pretty bad this time.”

“You were about as close to dead as a person can get and still live to tell the tale, kid,” Tony replies solemnly. “If our Dream Science Trio hadn’t come up with that antidote, Helen probably could have kept you technically alive, but…”

“But we wouldn’t be talking right now,” Peter finishes for him, sounding equally serious. “I know. She explained everything.”

Tony swallows down the lump in his throat. “Listen, now that we have a way to counteract the ethyl chloride solution, it shouldn’t be long before we can figure out a way to make you immune entirely. It’s possible you might have to get regularly poked, but Helen and Rhodey both sounded optimistic about a one-and-done when I discussed it with them yesterday.”

“And in the meantime… can I still go out on patrol?”

Tony rubs the back of his neck, only to pinch the bridge of his nose when his head gives a particular sharp throb. With a deep breath he finally replies, “That’s really more up to your aunt than me, Pete. I’ll be honest, after what happened, what I saw… if it were just my call, it’d be hard to say yes.” The memory of Peter lying on the floor—still and bloody—momentarily superimposes over the living, breathing Peter in front of him before Tony forces it away. “But it’s not my call, and we did manage to get all of Fisk’s reserves, along with his records of who he’d sold vials to. As far as we know, it’s off the streets. But that’s just it, kid—it’s only as far we know.”

Peter nods, looking suddenly very tired—or perhaps, Tony considers on second thought, simply much older than his years. Despite his typically upbeat demeanor, Tony knows the kid is far wiser and more worldly than he usually lets on. How could he not be, with the losses he’d suffered in his short life?

Once again, it’s Peter who pulls him right out of his thoughts. 

“I wish I could say I was sorry for scaring you again, but”—Peter bites his lip before plowing on—”the truth is? I’m not. Like, I hate that you had to see that, and May too… but I wouldn’t do it differently. Not if it meant you died instead, when I could have stopped it.”

Tony surprises even himself when he replies, “That’s okay.”

Peter glances up sharply. “Really?” 

Tony pauses to think for just a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, it’s—for once, it really is.” At Peter’s continued look of astonishment he continues, “Pete, I’ve been terrified for  _ months _ that every time you went on patrol would be your last, all because of this spidey kryptonite. And what happened in the lab, seeing you lying there, not breathing, one foot in the grave… well, it was the worst possible thing I could imagine. All those fears come to life.” 

Tony takes a deep breath, once more willing away the memory of a bloody, dying Peter—and how many times would he have to do that for the rest of his life?—until he’s left only with the one before him now, eyes wide and hanging on his every word. “But then—then you  _ lived, _ kid. And on top of that, we have an antidote now, one which I have full confidence we can use as the basis for creating a specialized vaccine. Not that I want it to  _ ever  _ happen again, mind you, but for once, I’m gonna choose not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Tony shrugs. “So yeah—it’s okay.”

He shouldn’t be surprised when Peter’s look of surprise morphs into a smirk. “This is the concussion speaking, I know it. Because the Mr. Stark I know would  _ never  _ say that.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Watch it, kid, or I just might  _ conveniently _ forget this talk ever happened.”

Peter smiles, shaking his head. The two of them sit in silence for a little while, Peter looking deep in thought, probably mulling over the veracity of Tony’s declaration. But it  _ is  _ true, Tony thinks. Because for as many times as Peter had nearly or now  _ entirely  _ left them now, the kid always managed to fight his way back.  _ Astounding  _ didn’t even begin to describe it anymore, not after this time. And the light at the end of the tunnel was finally in sight. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to come up with a vaccine?”

Tony glances back up at Peter before canting his head, considering the question. “It’s not exactly something I’d usually try to put a number on. But I think if myself and the others—and you, if you want—put our minds to it, probably a matter of a few weeks.”

Peter nods again after a moment, looking decided. “Okay.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Okay…?”

“Okay, I’ll take a break from patrolling until we’ve figured out a way to make me immune,” Peter says decidedly.

“You will?” Tony asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, if something is going down right in front me, then I’m not just gonna stand there and do nothing,” Peter explains. “But if it would make you and May feel better, and especially now with what you said… well, I suppose I can promise not to go out  _ looking _ for bad guys to stop. For a little while.”

“That… well, I can’t speak for your aunt, but that would definitely make me feel a lot better,” Tony replies with no small amount of relief. “More than you know, in fact. So, thanks. For agreeing to that.”

Peter gives him a small, knowing smile. He looks like he’s about to say more but what comes out instead is a big giant yawn.

“Alright, that’s my cue to let you get some sleep, kid,” Tony says, getting to his feet—fast at first and then slower when he gets a little dizzy, rubbing a palm against the sharp pulse of pain that permeates through his skull under the guise of smoothing out his hair.

The ruse must not work because Peter just fixes him with another look, this one more authoritarian. “And that’s  _ your  _ cue to get some rest too, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m going,” Tony says with no heat. He lingers for a moment, placing his hand in Peter’s hair, ruffling it a bit—not enough to get a rise out of the kid, but rather a gesture of clear affection. Pulling his arm back, he can think of a lot of things he wants to say, things like  _ I’m so glad you’re safe  _ and  _ I still can’t believe you’re here  _ and  _ if I never have to watch you die in my arms again it’ll be too soon.  _ But all that comes out is, “I’ll see you later, Pete.”

“See ya, Mr. Stark,” Peter mumbles, eyes already closed. 

With a last fond look, Tony takes his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all for the ethyl chloride series!!!!! 
> 
> ...... for now ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed our writing gremlins!! Come hang out us on tumblr: [blondsak](https://blondsak.Tumblr.com) and [seekrest](https://pursue-solitude.tumblr.com)


End file.
